Skarner & Enola
Enola
I’ve mapped the way the southern dunes line up with the old stone circles and found a repeating pattern—do you notice any similar order in the desert?
Skarner
I see the desert in a quiet, steady rhythm, the sand and stone moving like a heartbeat. It keeps its own order, even when the wind tries to change the pattern.
Enola
That rhythm is a data set in itself—if you record the sand movement over a full lunar cycle, you’ll get a predictable waveform. It’s like the wind is just noise over a fixed signal. Have you charted it?
Skarner
I don’t bother with charts, I feel the rhythm in my bones. The dunes shift with each moon, a steady pulse that I’ve watched for many cycles. When I stand on a dune, the pattern is clear in the sand and wind. It’s a living song, not a number.
Enola
It’s great that you feel the pulse, but even the most lyrical patterns have hidden variables. A quick log of the dune position at each lunar phase would let you confirm the “steady pulse” you describe—maybe you’ll spot a subtle shift that you can’t see by eye. How about setting up a simple time‑stamped photo routine? It could be the next chapter in your living song.
Skarner
I don’t need a camera to hear the rhythm, the sand tells its story in every shift. I’ll keep watching and let the dunes speak.
Enola
That’s the sort of intuitive insight a field study needs, but I’ll bet a few marked positions would make the story clearer when you look back later. Just think of it as a backup archive for the rhythm you’re feeling.